


After Everything

by Bluebellepeppers



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Old Married Couple, Oneshot, POV Thorin, The Shire, Thorin in the Shire, Uncle Thorin, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Young Frodo Baggins, platonic for fucks sake, the ring is already destroyed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28106445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellepeppers/pseuds/Bluebellepeppers
Summary: Frodo comes to live with Thorin and Bilbo soon after his parent's death, a young boy of 12. Thorin quickly takes him under his wing and helps him the best he can, while Bilbo makes cookies.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Frodo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Frodo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	After Everything

After everything, they found happiness. Thorin ruled for 10 years before turning his crown over to Fili, and Bilbo sat by his side for it all. They were foolish, in the beginning, dancing around their love like it would burn them. And it did burn, but it burned bright and cheerful, and brought warmth into their lives.  
They learned each other's oddities and melded their lives, because love is a choice. Bilbo chose to watch his too quick tongue, and Thorin tempered his anger. Not to say they did not fight. They fought, passionately, when it was important. But they never went to bed angry. Neither would risk it, not when the world had been so close to separating them forever. 

There's a certain nostalgia that hits when you’re worn and weary of the world, of the brighter things of youth that call you home. And for Bilbo, it called him to the Shire, and he wept heavily for it, and Thorin listened. For Thorin was tired, tired of politics and fighting and wars, and something was brewing on the horizon that he did not wish to face.  
So they quietly packed their home into chests. The company bid them farewell, with promises to visit for tea time and every other time. Kili accompanied them as far as the edges of Mirkwood, along with his wife, Tauriel. 

They traveled most of the way alone. But they had each other, and that was well and good. Even if Thorin stole pieces of food from the pot before it was ready, or if Bilbo insisted on grooming his feet every morning before setting off. 

When they arrived in the Shire, everyone stared. Bilbo had sent a letter well before all this, explaining where and why, and his home had been put aside for him. But that was not why they stared. Dwarves were common, and often were seen traveling through the Shire when necessary.  
No, they stared because Bilbo had proclaimed long ago that he would never marry, and there he was, standing hand in hand with a dwarf, matching braids in their hair. Most importantly, there was a silver ring glinting on Bilbo’s left hand. 

And thus the odd couple moved into Bag End, and all was well. 

“Thorin….where did the lemon pie go?” Bilbo stood in the kitchen, where a lemon pie, and apple pie, and a strawberry pie once sat. But now there were two. He turned to his husband, who sat at the breakfast table.  
“What pie?” Thorin asked, an empty dessert plate suspiciously in front of him. He dabbed a napkin against his beard, a habit he picked up from Bilbo, and smiled innocently. 

“The lemon pie? That I made this morning for the all important fall festival competition this afternoon? That I’ve won the last 2 years with my mother’s secret recipe. The ones you promised not to eat.” Bilbo spouted, and with every sentence he encroached upon Thorin, a wooden spoon held in his hand. He soon was only inches from Thorin’s face, a menacing look upon his face.  
“I don’t know anything.” Thorin said. Thorin gently leaned forward and kissed him. Bilbo relaxed, the menacing spoon in his hand lowered to his side. Thorin gently pulled him down, and soon Bilbo settled into his lap. The wooden spoon was dropped to the floor, forgotten. 

Bilbo pulled back, his eyebrow raised. “You taste like lemons, Thorin.”  
Thorin didn’t respond, only grinning not-so innocently at his husband. Bilbo huffed. He tried to extract himself from Thorin, but the dwarf only tightened the embrace.  
  
“Thorin, that pie was for the competition.” Bilbo huffed.  
Thorin laughed. “I know you made two just in case.” And it was true, Thorin wouldn’t have eaten it without knowing there was a replacement. He wasn’t cruel, he thought to himself.  
“Well.” Bilbo curled against Thorin’s chest, resting his head on Thorin’s heart. Thorin knew that Bilbo always found his heartbeat comforting, a quick reminder of the here and now. Even in cheerful moments, it helped. 

Thorin hummed, and ran his hand through Bilbo’s hair, before moving to lightly rub Bilbo’s back. Even now, years after they spoke their vows and merged their lives, Thorin felt a great joy at the simplicity of being allowed to touch. That Bilbo had chosen to love him, despite everything. He rested his chin on his husband's head, and smiled softly.  
A soft sigh escaped Bilbo. 

A knock soon sounded at the door. Bilbo groaned and curled even tighter against Thorin, clearly having every intention of ignoring it.  
Thorin chuckled, and gently set Bilbo next to him, ignoring his love's complaints. Bilbo had drilled it into his head long ago that it was rude to ignore visitors, even if you didn’t want them, and Thorin was going to follow through.  
Bilbo stayed in the kitchen while Thorin went to the door. He cracked it open, and to his surprise a hobbit he barely recognized stood on the doorstep. Rorimac Brandybuck, one of Bilbo’s distant cousins, and if Thorin remembered right, he was important somehow. An heir or something. 

“Sorry to bother you two so early today,” Rorimac started, and Thorin smiled to himself. Only a hobbit would call noon early.  
“But I have a...odd request for Bilbo. If you could go and get him.” Rorimac said, and then added hastily. “Please, sir.” 

Thorin snorted. Two years in the Shire and they were still a little afraid of him. He turned to comply, but Bilbo was already standing there. He must have heard his cousin's voice and came to investigate.  
“Well, what is it?” Bilbo asked, his voice neutral, but undeniably unwelcoming. 

Rorimac glanced nervously between Thorin and Bilbo, clearly unsure what to say.  
“Out with it Rory, whatever you have to say can be said to us both.” Bilbo said curtly. Thorin placed a hand on his husband's shoulder and squeezed it, and he could feel Bilbo relax just slightly.  
“Well, er. It’s about Frodo Baggins, sir…”

“Should we really bring him into our home? I mean, for one, he got into a fight Thorin! I feel bad for him but what kind of lad is that?” Bilbo sputtered in private. He paced in the living room, and Thorin wondered at how quickly they would have to replace the floors.  
“He’s grieving, Bilbo. You heard your cousin, he’s never done anything like this before. This could be good for us and him.” Thorin said and then added, a soft smile playing across his features. “Besides, you already agreed to go see him.” 

“That’s all I agreed to. Nothing more, nothing less.” Bilbo huffed, but to Thorin’s relief he stopped pacing and stopped in front of the mantle. He stared at the sword above the mantle. It was Sting, as Thorin wouldn’t let his sword be hung up like a decoration. Instead, it sat under the bed.

“I also...well, we would be committing as his guardians, and I- I never thought to have children. I know nothing about raising them. And you didn’t sign up for this.” Bilbo sighed. He turned back to Thorin, fiddling with the fraying edge of his housecoat.

“Marrying you signed me up for all kinds of trouble. Besides, I raised Fili and Kili. If I can’t handle Frodo, then I’ve lost my touch.” Thorin said. He grinned in a way that he imagined was convincing, and reached out for Bilbo’s hand. He gently pulled his husband closer to him, and Bilbo let him.  
“Fili and Kili are menaces.” Bilbo snorted as he stood in front of Thorin. He kissed Thorin’s forehead, then leaned down to kiss his lips as well. Thorin wormed an arm around his waist, pulling him close. After a moment they broke apart, and Bilbo pressed his forehead to Thorin’s.  
“But they are our menaces.” Thorin said, smiling slightly. He took a moment to breathe in his husband’s scent, of bread and dirt and sky. He pressed another kiss to Bilbo’s neck, and then swiped him up into his arms.  
“Thorin!” Bilbo laughed as his husband carried him off to their bedroom. 

They went up to Brandybuck hall, just as Rorimac requested, and met Frodo. Thorin, on his part, was instantly charmed by the boy in front of him. He was polite, and quiet, and when they first found him was buried in a book thicker than his head. And despite Bilbo’s worries, he took one look at the boy and invited him to stay.  
They returned to Bag End with Frodo, a cart with all his belongings in tow. Thorin had cleared out a guest room in anticipation, and the trio quickly placed all his things within it. 

That evening was a quiet affair. Frodo joined them for dinner, but much of his spark was gone and he was clearly tired. Thorin almost sent him to bed early, the only thing holding him back was the fact that the poor boy hadn’t eaten since lunch. He had learned long ago not to get in the way of hobbits and their food.  
The meal ended soon enough, and Bilbo took him off to bed. 

Bilbo came padding back into the living room, one hand running through his greying curls and sighing.  
“How is he?” Thorin asked from his armchair. 

Bilbo’s face set in a grim line. He sat in his armchair, and sighed as he reclined into it. The fireplace was brightly lit with both fire and candles, and he stared into it for a moment before speaking.  
“He said very little, but Rory warned me that he mostly cries by himself at night..so..”

Thorin winced. He knew all too well the need to cry behind closed doors. His own mother and grandmother had died fairly soon after the attack on Erebor, and rather than speak, he locked himself away from the others for a week. At the time, he thought he was being stoic and mature, but he now knew that no one would have thought little of him for grieving. 

Bilbo was still staring into the fireplace, his chin rested in his hand. Thorin often took such a quiet evening to admire his husband, with the lights flickering across his face. But tonight, he was struck by how weary Bilbo looked. Lines from both time and laughter streaked his face, and in the light they deepened far beyond his age. 

“Have you tried talking to him? If we could just get him comfortable enough-,” Thorin started, his voice fading off as Bilbo turned to look at him. 

“I don’t know Thorin. I never planned on having children, and I certainly never planned on helping a grieving tween. I...I don’t have much experience with this, and my parents died at a ripe old age that only made me happy to see them go together. This is different.” Bilbo sighed.  
He began to fiddle with his pocket, and although Thorin knew the ring to be long gone, he still worried at the gesture. Bilbo wanting to disappear was never a good thing. 

“Grieving at a young age is never easy. I had my own share of it, and even now it can dig into my heart and leave me feeling exposed. Perhaps he just needs time to himself.” Thorin spoke quietly, his voice soft and tinged with sadness. He absently twisted his wedding ring, the cool metal against his fingers keeping him grounded  
“Perhaps.” 

Frodo came to breakfast the next day at the pushing of Bilbo. If anything, they were going to make sure the lad ate. Thorin would not permit watching anyone waste away from grief. Not again.  
Bilbo attempted cheerful conversation, going on about his tomatoes and other gardening things. Thorin tried to listen and respond, but he had never had a knack for growing things, and very little of it stuck in his head. But even less stuck as he watched Frodo quietly eating his food. The lad’s movements were mechanical, and his face pale.  
Thorin’s mind began to work. If he could just get him to open up….

“Frodo, after you finish eating, I need you to help me at the forge.” Thorin interrupted. He hated cutting Bilbo off, but Frodo was close to finishing his food, and was sitting on the edge of his seat as if ready to bolt.  
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him in surprise, but seemed unbothered otherwise. 

“Uh...yes Sir.” Frodo mumbled. The boy didn’t even look up, and Thorin’s heart hurt. This was going to take longer than he thought. 

They finished breakfast quickly after that, and Bilbo shooed them both out of the kitchen. He promised cookies for them when they returned, and Thorin was heartened to see a small glimpse of a smile flash across Frodo’s face.  
Thorin and Frodo set out down the road into town. Soon after he and Bilbo had arrived in Erebor, the town’s smith had gotten married and moved to Bree with her wife. Thorin volunteered to take it over, and it had been his smithy ever since.  
True to form, Frodo didn’t speak much. Thorin pointed out things that he had found exciting moving into Bag end, from the party tree to the pink flowers that littered the hill leading into town. 

He didn’t actually need to go into the forge today. All the orders had been finished in anticipation of having Frodo move in that week, and he didn’t take new orders on Wednesdays anyway.  
But it would do Frodo no good to sit inside all day. 

The forge was chilled in the morning, and Thorin quickly set about relighting it. Sometimes he missed the ever-burning forges of Erebor, where he could sneak off at any time, night or day, and work on his projects. But he had Bilbo, and had grown to love the Shire through his husband’s eyes.  
Frodo stood in the doorway, his eyes fliting over everything. It was a lot to take in, Thorin was well aware, as he remembered the first time he had shown Bilbo everything. So he quietly began to pull out one of his less strenuous projects. It was a small letter opener, intended for Bilbo during the winter celebrations. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin could see Frodo slowly creeping forward as he set to work on the handle. A delicate flower was beginning to form under his hand, far more delicate than anything he had made before. It was the shape of a lilly, one of Bilbo’s more favorite flowers.  
“Who's that for?” A small voice sounded next to his arm. Frodo’s wide eyes stared up at him, and Thorin smiled. 

“It’s for your Uncle this winter.” He explained, pausing in his work. The first thing ingrained into him in the forge was never take his eyes away while he was working. That was how one could lose a finger tip or in once rather gruesome case, a hand.  
He crouched down as if to grab something, making his face level with Frodo’s.  
“Now you can’t tell him, because it’s a surprise. Understand?” 

Frodo nodded solemnly.  
“I know all about surprises. My mom had a surprise in bed one day, and I never saw him again.” The lad said, completely unaware of the 7 stages of shock Thorin’s face was going through. Thorin was accustomed to Shire gossip, but nothing so...bold. Nor directly from the mouths of babes.  
At least the boy had managed to mention his mother without a matching set of tears.  
“Alright. Well. We won’t be having those types of surprises around here. Just presents.” Thorin said, desperately trying to find a new, safer topic. He did not need to know more about his hobbit side of the family, he rather hastily decided. 

Their conversation quickly died after, and Thorin showed Frodo a spot where he kept clay. He primarily used it for quickly coming up with ideas, but it entertained children of all ages just as well.  
The two quietly set to work, and by the end of the day Thorin had nearly completed the letter opener. Frodo created a bowl, and it was lopsided, but what mattered was that his face glowed with pride as he showed it to Thorin.  
Thorin very carefully set it in the one little kiln that he barely used, and promised to return and check on it the next day. 

They returned home just before dark.  
Bilbo, as promised, had chocolate chip cookies waiting for them. He made them eat dinner first, to both of their displeasure, but the cookies were well worth the wait.  
Thorin let out an involuntary groan as he bit into them. Bilbo had been making pies for the last two months, and as much as Thorin loved them, Bilbo’s chocolate chip cookies were the best in the Shire. He couldn’t remember if it was an old family recipe or something Bilbo had made up on his own, but that hardly mattered.  
What mattered was getting his hands on the rest of them. 

He gave Frodo a conspiratorial wink behind Bilbo’s back, and then slowly rose. His husband was cleaning dishes in the sink, and humming. The cookies were just down the counter from him. 16 beautiful, delicious cookies, just waiting for the right person. More accurately, the right dwarf. 

Thorin slowly crept behind Bilbo, eyes on the prize. He was just within reach, one large hand poised over a stack of 4, when-

“Thorin Oakenshield, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Bilbo said. 

Thorin froze and turned to look at his husband. He was still facing away, scrubbing vigorously at a pie pan. Thorin groaned, but this time no cookie accompanied it.  
“You can have one more. Both of you.” Bilbo said, and a smile tinged his voice. 

Thorin obeyed and took two cookies back to the table, sending longing glances at the 14 that still sat on the counter. 

“We’ll get them later.” He whispered to Frodo as he handed him his cookie, drawing a small laugh out of the lad.  
“I heard that Thorin.” Bilbo said, returning to their table with his own cookie. He sat next to Thorin, stealing his plate in the process. 

“I didn’t say anything amrâlimê.” Thorin chuckled before leaning in to kiss Bilbo’s cheek, leaving a smudge of chocolate behind. 

And as the week went on, Thorin took Frodo with him to his forge. Sometimes the boy would bring a book, and other times he would watch (from a safe distance) as Thorin worked on this or that. And one time, when Frodo was exceptionally talkative, Thorin showed him how to carve wood, and by the middle of the day the lad had both a bandaged finger and an odd looking eagle.  
“Just like the ones in your journey, Mister Thorin.” Frodo explained. His face was once again lit with pride, and Thorin’s heart melted at the boy standing before him. He reminded Thorin more and more of his own nephews, albeit any mischief had yet to show. Memories of a much younger Kili showing him his first craft flitted through the back of Thorin’s mind. 

“Are you ok Mister Thorin?” Frodo asked, his hand reaching up to wave in front of Thorin’s face.  
Thorin cleared his throat and shook his head. Now was not the time for distractions. He had a nephew here and now who needed his help. Yes. Frodo was his nephew, even if the lad wasn’t aware of it.  
“I’m fine, Frodo. I think it’s time to eat our lunch.” 

The two camped out on the hill above the forge. It was shaded by a great tree, and they sat against the trunk of it, hidden from anyone passing by. Thorin treasured the spot, as he could see the back of Bag End. If Bilbo was ever gardening, he could see him too.  
Also, the tree was a nice safeguard between nosy hobbits and a dwarf. 

Bilbo packed them lunch that morning, a peanut butter and jelly for Frodo and a ham sandwich for Thorin. And tucked into the side pocket, a baggy of cookies. Frodo let out a cheer when he saw them in Thorin’s hand. Thorin set them aside, out of sight, as otherwise he might just eat them instead of his sandwich.  
They both quietly set into their food, exchanging smiles when Frodo caught his eye. Frodo quickly devoured his sandwich and looked longingly at Thorin’s, before realizing that Bilbo had considered this and packed a second one just for him. 

Thorin grinned as Frodo quickly devoured the second one. He really did remind him of Fili and Kili.  
“One day I’m going to have Fili come visit and see who eats the most.” Thorin said, leaning over to wipe jelly smears off Frodo’s face. 

“Fili?” Frodo asked, squirming just out of Thorin’s reach.  
“Would you come here- thank you. Yes, Fili is my nephew, remember? Along with Kili.” 

Frodo was trying to sit still while Thorin cleaned up his hands and face, but he nodded just slightly.  
“They live with their mother in Erebor. You know, from Bilbo’s story?” Thorin continued. He finished cleaning Frodo up and turned to his own beard, where large crumbs now sat. 

“What about their dad? You never talk about him.” Frodo asked. Thorin turned back to the boy, and Frodo wouldn’t return his gaze. 

“He...died, when they were young.” Thorin said in measured tones, closely watching Frodo’s face for a reaction. 

Frodo’s head hung down for a moment, and he stared at his feet. Thorin continued fiddling with his beard, and stared out across the hills to home.  
“How did he die?” Frodo asked quietly, almost too softly to hear. 

Thorin debated answering. Frodo knew of war and death, but in a fairytale sense where the main characters never die. He didn’t want to cause any damage if he could avoid it. But Frodo stared at him with bright blue eyes, and Kili’s face came flooding into his head.  
“He died defending their home from orcs.” Thorin explained. It was more complicated than that, but such a story had darker forces than he cared to share with a child like Frodo.  
“At least he’ll be remembered for that.” Frodo murmured. He seemed surprised that it came out, and turned a startled look on Thorin.  
Oh. 

Thorin sighed and shifted closer to Frodo, placing a gentle arm around the lad and pulling him close. He felt a wet spot begin to form on his tunic where Frodo buried his head into his side.  
“No one is trying to replace or forget your parents, Frodo.” He murmured, bringing one hand up to smooth his nephew’s hair. The poor kid continued crying, and it was clearly the type that had been building up over a couple of days. Thorin was familiar with those.  
Flashes of another dark haired nephew crying into his side flew through his mind, and he tightened his arm around Frodo. All he ever wanted was to shield them from the world, and even here in the Shire, it wasn’t possible. 

“Frodo, no matter what happens, you’ll never forget them. Trust me. And we’ll help you remember.” Thorin said. 

“I-I want t-to see t-them again.” Frodo sobbed, clutching at the fabric around Thorin’s middle. 

“I know, I know dear.” Thorin murmured, imitating the way Dis used to comfort her sons. He had learned quickly that her soft comfort was better than uplifting lectures, and incorporated them. He continued to smooth Frodo’s hair as the boy cried, placing a soft kiss to the top of his head. 

“Do you have a picture of them?” He asked softly. Frodo raised his head and watery blue eyes met Thorin’s. He shook his head before responding.

“I left them at h- at my old house.” He said shakily before cowering back into Thorin’s side. 

“We’ll go get them tomorrow.” Thorin decided out loud, and was instantly rewarded with Frodo’s shaky smile. 

Frodo calmed the best he could after that, and they packed up their picnic. Thorin shut down the forge, carefully placing his project back into its place. Frodo’s lopsided bowl was ready, and it helped cheer him up as he proudly carried both bowl and eagle home.  
They returned to Bag End quiet and thoughtful, and had a quiet dinner. Frodo quickly moved off to bed, but not before asking very politely for a hug from Thorin. Bilbo did not get a hug, although he didn’t seem bothered. He later told Thorin that the fact that Frodo hugged anyone was a good sign, based on Rorimac's account. 

The next day, as promised, Thorin accompanied Frodo to go get his parents portraits from his old home. Another set of Baggins had moved in, but they complied quickly when they realized that the kid had Mad Baggin’s dwarf with him.  
Primula and Drogo’s portraits were hung in the living room along with the portraits of Bilbo’s parents. Frodo helped Thorin hang them up, very carefully holding the nails and hammer. They were rewarded with cookies, four each, and Bilbo proudly placed Frodo’s eagle on the bannister with his sword. The clay bowl was filled with fruit and placed in the kitchen window. 

Thorin smiled quietly the whole time. He felt his heart warm every time Frodo spoke plainly and loudly, and when he felt no need to ask permission for a snack from the kitchen and left his muddy cloak on the floor.  
One evening Frodo called him Uncle, and Thorin cried.


End file.
